


Here we go again

by Shattered___Glass



Category: Friday Night Funkin' (Video Game), Pico's School (Video Game)
Genre: Bf is called "Keith" for obvious reasons, Damn man I got the whole squad laughing, Fluff and Angst, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Multi, My First AO3 Post, it's some kind of an AU?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:09:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28848846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shattered___Glass/pseuds/Shattered___Glass
Summary: Basically uh, shit. I can't explain the piece of shit I wrote
Relationships: Boyfriend/Girlfriend, boyfriend/pico
Comments: 11
Kudos: 82





	1. Familiarity

**Author's Note:**

> Aight shit this is the first fanfic I bothered to post and I'm nervous Af, lmao. I'm so bad at writing.

This was not the first time Pico saw Keith’s face again. He used to see it all the time, even when he didn’t want to. He hated to say it, but Keith lit something in him he thought he lost, something he didn’t even have. After the years of all the shit he went through why would he have anything left in him. He didn’t need to have anything left in him; the world was empty enough already to him. All the mattered was him and the rounds in his gun, that’s all it became, even if holding one made him feel an overwhelming wash of distress from past years. It didn’t matter, all he needed is that he felt strong and in control of his situation. Forever and always. Forever and always.

Until he came into the picture. Keith pulled on a heartstring Pico didn’t know he had, even if it persisted with the mass of underlying problems.

It made him feel different, it made him feel weak in some way. Weak in a way that felt normal, but any kind of weak didn’t feel normal to him, but oddly enough this did. Suffice to say it made him feel frail, he entered a world that very much nearly scared him.

Pico thought he knew himself for the longest time, it had just been him and his ever-changing emptying world. He was alone with his thoughts, and it felt good. But he didn’t know himself anymore, and he wasn’t fine with that fact. 

Keith brought him to a cloud far from just 9, even though mentally he was on rock bottom. He could never find normality in it; even worse it was hard to let his guard down and listen for once. He couldn’t even sleep peacefully most of the time, he always woke up in a break of a sweaty nightmare. 

It felt strange he was always in a normal place in the same bed with a normal person, it wasn’t the same backstabbing poker faces or coked out women, it was just him and his typically normal boyfriend. 

and that caught him off guard completely. 

But where it all went faulty, is where the complete self-obsession and ignorance to his partner he practiced. He didn’t know how much it really hurt, and how much any of it would hurt for both of them in the end. There were even wrongs on Keith’s side, always downplaying Pico’s mental trauma as the past in the wake of his own immaturity. It was a relationship that thrived on hurting each other for a skewed misunderstood ideal. 

In the end, they both hurt themselves and they felt like they suffered immensely. As immature young adults, they were with no such past experience with relationships, like hell they didn’t know better, even then they blindly ignored it. 

After a few years naturally, they would’ve gotten over their screwed relationship. Naturally right? Course they would’ve and Pico thought so more than ever. After he lived on to his own dismay and tried to find a career he could naturally pursue. To almost no avail he seemed to shift his way into a music studio taking a guard job for the complex on graveyard shifts, the income was shitty, but he could make up the money he needed for necessities in various ways that weren’t very in line with the law. 

It didn’t matter, at the end of the day he was living and that’s all that mattered. 

So, he worked his shitty 9 to 5, laughing at the shitty nightly hijinks his coworkers would stupidly pursue, not knowing he was watching them bitterly without shame. It was rarely exciting most nights, but on some it hit hell. After work, it was going home to get the ‘good stuff’, sell, and hope one day you make an empire bigger than big pharma. 

But one day was a particular case. It was time for his shift and he meekly stumbled on a blue-haired man and his red-dressed girlfriend, who he naturally got advances from, much to the dismay of the other. He didn’t recognize them, but the Blue haired one seemed rather familiar with his peach skin and jet-black eyes. He didn’t go further with it, they seemed happy enough, they didn’t need a Trenchie trying to advance on the other, he just worked here, that’s all. But something spoke to him, like the way the blue-haired man looked at him tentatively and felt almost muddled and endearing for a reason unknown. 

Before he stepped outside to make his rounds he was called by a man at the front desk, “Ayo ginger, the dolls off tonight mind helping our guests?” the man said formally teasing him. “Fine, I mean what the hell,” Pico said back making his way to the front in his checkered bullet vested uniform. “all alright they’re set in studio 5,” the man said to Pico whilst handing him the keys. 

Pico took the keys reluctantly but grasped them and gestured to the guests. They bickered and smiled about their new single saying that it might as well top charts for a sweet small while. Pico wasn’t really the one to listen to music lately they reminded him too much of whispering failures in his head. He didn’t want to be reminded of that, as of late he just wanted to live his life. 

He walked down the hall as the two trailed behind him giggling and looking at the place like a kid who was at Disney land for the first time. 

He stopped and opened up the studio for room 5. “So, uh this is it, seems cozy enough for your music” Pico said nearly joking. The red-dressed girl stepped in and admired the studio and the lounge that was built in it, while the blue-haired man snuck glances at Pico in a rushed manner. 

“Hey, BF,” the girl said, “I have to go to the bathroom I’ll be right back!”. Every time she spoke the sound of her voice was always high and happy, but at the same time low and calm, it perfectly encapsulated a vague daydream. She stepped out of the room and walked briskly down the hall. 

Pico sighed, and that’s where I take my leave, He thought. He was about to walk out but the intervention of the man cut through his action. 

“So, you seem like a really odd person,” They said, Pico cringed a bit and turned, “Waddya mean by that?” He said, his words lined with low streaking intimidation. The blue-haired man raised a brow, “I mean you seem well a bit out of place here, don’t you think?”. Pico nodded “Yeah I know that,” he said having felt like he’s heard the man's voice time and time again. 

“And you seem interestingly familiar,” the man said squinting. “I figured by how many times you stared at me without a damn reason,” Pico said back moving against the wall. 

The man looked around a bit embarrassed, “figured huh”. Pico snorted a bit. The man looked at him, “sorry you just remind me of a person I used to be with” Pico said wanting to take back his words. The blue-haired man smiled a bit before resuming to talk, “You don’t seem like a security guard type” they said closely inspecting Pico. “Because I’m not, I do it because it pays,” Pico said taking his words into full consideration.

“So, what are you?” The blue-haired man inquired. Pico looked dumbly lost, “I mean I’m confused but if it makes it any better, I wanted to be a DJ back when I was in…school”. “That’s a start…so you made any beats yet?” The man said, “before you ask me more questions ‘BF’ what’s your name,” Pico said wanting to at least get some information out of him, “Just BF, and what about your's nightguard?” BF spat back, “that’s classified” Pico chuckled. 

“Nightguard it is then.”


	2. Floating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy here's another shitty attempt at me writing, sum angst for you my fellow peeps. Shorter this time tho.

Floating feels odd. There’s nothing, just you. You alone, you always were alone. Sleeping is like floating, the space the fills your head falls empty, and your thoughts short circuit and you feel liberated. Sadly, not all of it is the bleak warm darkness. It becomes winding halls of marble, all too familiar. Footsteps echo and doors appear and shut. It all seems too normal as metal winds and binds. It’s a school. _A school._ The walls make vivid pictorials and words are all but vague and blurred. Your footsteps make a distortion, you’re the disturbance. They bounce off walls the flash spots of dripping red, it’s all too surreal.

_Tap tap tap._ You’re alone; you feel alone. The chills of your steps echoing from metal only fill your head with confusion. A bleak dim haze only clouds it all now. But you keep walking, you keep walking as your legs feel heavy and you feel your body sink in what feels like quicksand. _Who are you anyway?_ The walls glow a decadent red as it warps and decays, much like the sad obtuse rotting of apples. You are the fly, you’re going towards it all, _you are the fly._

The vague sounds of running and shouting laughs of children beckon down the hall, but there’s a clinking. A small metal clinking. _Clink…Clink._ It’s rapid, and it’s a melody of tears, a ballet of souls. A loud noise much like a hollow bang follows down the hall. The laughing stops, but the running and the voices of children make distortion hollow through the mind; _why was I the only one left, why am I still here?_ The halls twist and contort over a small slip of laughter, why is there laughter? You stop, your footsteps follow down the hall in a rushed manner, are those really your footsteps.

You tense, why do you tense? It’s nothing but tension. You feel fear jolt up your spine as something hard makes an impact on your foot. It’s an apple a red ripe apple. You pick it up, and it all falls black. Except this darkness isn’t welcoming, it’s suffocating.

_“has anyone here ever eaten a banana?”_

Your vision persists. You’re sitting at a desk. You’re in a classroom. Something isn’t right. There stands a woman in front of you, she has no face. The only defining trait is her blonde hair, and unmatching pink dress. Her limbs twitch and distort. A feeling brushes against your spine. You’re being watched. Your eyes dart the classroom. No one is there no one sitting, you look back to where the lady was. There was a different person. She had red hair the stuck up and hedged into points, she smiled at you her red lipstick sickening what was your non-existent existence.

“Enough of this crap”, she said turning her head, “Pico”.

You felt numb all that was there was a painful numb, you could feel her laugh stir your insides making your innards flip to a nauseating outwards fashion. “Don’t look so sad” She said, “or maybe do”, “I’ve been listening to goth music all my life, it says everything about letting your guilt consume you”, her laugh afterward was one of pure spite, there was a violent fire that lit her eyes, one that you knew. This had happened before. There’s never going to be a single tick of time where you don't feel the prick of the recoil of a rifle. It was pure dread. You did what you had to, there was no choice. Yet you were the only one oddly left of the wreckage, why was it mainly only you, what purpose did they have in not ejecting lead into you like all the others? You didn’t understand anything about it. The walls shifted and morphed into the red grotesque room that filed your mind at a bloody constant.

“You liked it didn’t you?” the girl said, “all of those people, sure you mainly didn’t have much of a choice but at the end of the day you picked up that rifle and you pulled the trigger…”. What choice did you have; stay there and accept death while pure fear twisted every nerve and vessel of your body. “did you enjoy it?” she inquired, “did you enjoy killing me?”, “ _murdering me??”._ Her words twisted vines of welling agony; you were nothing short of a mess. Nothing short of a screwup. You were nothing and you never made anything better.

Tears welled up in your eyes as the only onlooker giggled and gripped her gun with a fear-inducing intensity, you shouldn’t be feeling like this, why are you so scared? None of it was coherent, nothing made sense. All you wanted to do was cry, you wanted to close your eyes and hope for salvation for hope. You shut them in pure agony before a noticeable thump that was followed by a gunshot was heard. Up opened your eyes in a different room, but _she_ was still there, pooling blood on a cold concrete ground. You looked at your hands which held only the guilt of blood and the smell of a steel gun. You did it again, you stopped it. You were back here, the point of no return.

You turned around to black. Everything was black, but there were sounds that made apparent you weren’t alone you would never be. there were gasps and giggles of kids you couldn’t see, but they were pointing at you and they leered as their eyes peered into your soul. The darkness felt like a drowning depth. You were being pulled in; you were suffocating. The depths grabbed you and ripped at your flesh, you couldn’t move, you couldn’t breathe, you were just there floating.

You opened your eyes, there was still black. This time it was nothing of a sort. Just a plain. You walk and you walk aimlessly; _is this death?_ Your footsteps echo across everywhere, something about it feels randomly peaceful. What’s wrong with stopping, and just laying down, what’s wrong with the possibility this may be death? You brush off that thought and keep walking and walking till’ and odd light forms beyond the black horizon.

You run towards it, maybe this isn’t an end. Maybe this is something different. You run and you run with the hope of getting closer towards it. It’s a small lamppost with a table and a phone. There’s a small sticky note attached to it, “call me” it says. The sticky note has an assortment of numbers that look nothing like a real phone number. You call it anyway, there’s no harm in it. You call the number, all that follows is a dial tone. It trails leaving you anxious. It stops and picks up. The tone rings and echoes in your ears before it gets cut off by a pickup sound. “Hello?” you say to the phone.

“Pico?” says the other person on the line. 

Their voice is normal, and at a moment of brisk realization, “Keith?”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shorter than usual...I stayed up late writing this piece of shit since I'm destructive af. I need to get my life in check. Have a good day or night wherever you are <3


	3. Good stuff good ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ooh some more shitty writting :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, I starved yall for too long, school and mental health got in the way a bit too much.

What? Thought it was drugs, weed, cocaine? No, it’s not. What it really is, is a cold hard lead bullet. They click, they clack, but in the end, it’s worth it, Is it not? The feeling you get from the recoil driving the nerves up to your skin, feels wonderful, feels rather amazing doesn’t it? If you're interested we have the job for you or the fulfillment of work. Here we have the best of the best, and the worst of the worst. All for the right price. 

_ *CLICK*  _

The tape stops on a rather familiar face, no...not familiar. It just seems that way. It’s the face of a person who has no soul, nothing to live for but the killing of others. That’s what it seems. His hand is clenched on his gun with murderous intent, at least that’s what  _ he  _ thinks. His features are ruthless, he looks ruthless. Who is he and what is he. That look isn’t human, it’s one of intent, of fear mixed with the sadness of blind rage. 

It looks like he’s been empty for a while, but enough with the pure saturated shitty angst thinking. He’s the one for the job. Can’t help but feel a little bad.  _ He  _ takes out a photo, a noticeable one. It was taken from snooping from that dogshit blue balled asshole. It’s been a while. He wouldn’t possibly remember. The picture is a frame taken from happiness.

Happiness is often a screen, but behind it was something that could never be resolved, in their case at least.  _ He  _ laughs at the photo,  _ such a vindictive bastard he was.  _ Honestly, he was out for blood. So who’s to say that a gun for hire can’t be a hitman for a little while. It’s like playing dolls, except you’re the child and as the child, you control it all. 

_ He  _ laughs...It is still possible that he wants the same thing. To kill  _ him _ too. He looks at the paused tape and looks into the eyes of the person he so very much plans to hire. The only thing he has on his mind is one of murder is it not. They’re white and empty, the perfect pick. Maybe he had more emotion outside of the screen  _ he _ seems to stare at. But for right now, the only thing he was staring at was a killing machine. Highly respected, highly resented machine. It was just perfect. The man shifted on his chair. 

He overlooked his office and the display of trophies from his prime. He looked at his old demented photos. They were a relic of the past. He fiddled a mic in his hand. He remembered that same stage. He doesn’t have tolerance for those who try and step past him. He was told he was rather obsessive and overprotective with his kids. That was only normal. He looked at the mic in anguish as the red from his eyes were oh so reflective on the grey sheen of the surface. He leaned back looking at the mic. Pure anger only overtook him. He wasn’t a bad guy.  _ But maybe he was.  _ No, not was, still is. 

It’s not that way in his eyes. Power is blinding. He laughs as he stares, seeing his own reflection, his own past, his very future. He feels the clean-cut glory of it all. He wants that back. And he will as much get that back. He has a wonderful wife, a powerful job, but he can’t help that he’s a little egocentric (*wink*). He wanted all of it back. His past spoke to him. He had so much more influence. So many more people pulled their pockets out to him. It was wondrous. All that power he had he wanted back. He loved the attention. 

He loved the aimless fucks that were his stalkers. He loved it all. But he faded with age, and so did everything else, no more attention, no more power but the one that overtook him. He wasn’t what he was. His skin greyed and his eyes withered. He still considered himself the best. His stage was all he had left, as well as his money.

It was to never wither and dwindle like him. Until _he_ showed up. _He_ was a no-good hotshot of a man. Even though he was a bit moronic. His daughter had fallen over _him_ like a star in the night sky. _He_ wasn’t powerful or had power, _he_ was just overly determined; _ever see a man put his bones back together?_ His blue neon hair more than showed that through its overly exerted color. 

He didn’t look like much in fact he was quite trashy. His overly high voice reminded him of a fork scraping against a plate. Honestly just be glad that the man didn’t wake up and choose violence when he saw that blue-haired fuck. He wanted someone else to do that. The plan was to make quick work of him, but instead, he hastily prevailed. It was a shock, a rather annoying one in fact. It angered him. He came there and proceeded to own the place like it was his. 

So with murder on his mind and hate for all ticks of time, he would proceed to find himself doing a rather dirty act of hiring a gunman, to kill the garden gnome, while he snooped through his things. Only then he realized it would be much harder to persuade the person he hired head-on. He looked back at the picture and put his mic down. The ripping of memories felt rather enjoyable. Maybe if this person saw him for what he was, he would feel a bit more intimidated to do the job. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


“Prico!”, “Finally back I see”, the man at the front desk looked at Pico smugly. “Fuck do you want” Pico replied sensing a rather nefarious turn in his day? The man at the front desk leaned forward-facing the ginger with a shit-eating grin, “Not anything too big”, Pico scowled a bit, “calm it red-head” The man at the front desk said, “I just found out about your little hit jobs and I thought I would employ in a sort”, Pico rolled his eyes, “what the fuck-”, “I can pay rather graciously” the man at the front desk said. Pico looked at him enthralled. “You can pay?” he said. The man at the front desk shook his head yes. Pico raised a brow. “I need your name for the records. “Deven,” the man at the desk said. Pico leaned in on the desk, “alright Deven, give me all the information you have and we’ll see”. Pico was far from a hitman but apparently, these are the jobs you’re given. 

Pico felt odd as he stood outside of a window, maybe he shouldn’t have taken this job. He was tired and the drive was more than long. You’d think if you live in Philly people wouldn’t try and send you all the way to Maryland, just to kill someone. But you’d be surprised how many people are really this vengeful. It was midnight, He spent his time outside the house observing. A loving mother and few children. At first, he thought he had the wrong people, but even after the photos that were given and the descriptions there was no doubt he’d be fucking up a family. The person in question was Mother, she was tall and skinny with short blonde hair. Her children seemed to adore her too. It wasn’t a lie to say that Pico felt bad. The kids only looked about 5, 8, 13. But they can handle it, even though that thought was a shitfaced lie. The mom was sitting on the couch watching TV while sipping wine, Pico felt a wave of cringe shoot up him, but heck that’s just life. He examined the locks and the doors earlier before noticing that they left their upstairs window in a room unlocked. That’s the entry point and that’s how you get out. 

He briskly went to the backyard and started climbing up a narrow pipe that was along the wall. He nearly lost his footing, but if that were to go bad a broken leg wouldn’t be his only problem. He glided on the sides of the Rooftop, to the unlocked window before carefully sliding it up. He stepped in and closed the window behind him. 

“Hewllo?” 

Pico nearly jumped out of his skin. Standing there in front of him was a small 5-year-old girl, she looked sleepy but she didn’t look scared, “are you one of my mommy's boyfriends?” she asked, Pico, gulped down a lump. “Y-yea” He gripped the Mac-10 in his hand a little harder. “Oh,” the little girl said, “I’m Sidney,” she said aloud, “c-cool could you keep it down?” Pico whispered. “Oh sure, why does your voice sound like a broken toaster?” the little girl inquired, Pico stared knowing he was in some deep shit. “I-i...smoke?” He said. “Oh,” the little girl started, “my mommy does too, she was that ball with the pipe thing, she doesn’t like us seeing her use it”. Pico looked at the little girl knowing that he was going to be dead. “Oh dear lord” Pico whispered. 

“Okay sweetie maybe just go back to bed?” he said, shushing her, “can you tuck me in?” she asked, “each one of mommies boyfriends were kind enough to do that”. Pico sighed, “yea..fine”. The little girl hopped on her bed and played down smiling. Pico gently put the covers over her before tucking in the sides, “can you give me a kiss on my forehead” the little girl asked, Pico looked her dead in the eyes, “no” as he walked out of the room.” Alright done with that shit of a radiant quest” he said to himself, “just got to”. 

He looked ahead of him to see the 13-year-old in question stared at him with big blank eyes. They looked at Pico aggressively, before their eyes darted to his gun. Pico out of pure hesitation point it and whispered “don’t fucking say a thing, got it, or the bullets from the gun are going to come out the other side of your head”. The 13-year-old hastily got down before whimpering a bit and crying. “Shit,” Pico said. He rushed down the stairs to see the mom still on the couch but getting a bit worried from the small sobs she was hearing. 

She pushed it off and began to continue to watch her shitty soap opera. “This is it, take the shot,” he said to himself. Something inside him was hesitating greatly. His hand didn’t want to function knowing that he would fuck up kids' lives, it reminded him of his own and it greatly upset him. His hand shook before closing his eyes and pulling the- 

**BANG!**

  
  
  


Pico opened his eyes; it wasn't his gunshot, even though the woman lay dead on the couch wine spilled over her body. He looked around the windows to see a piece of shattered glass, whoever did that was shitty enough to not use a silencer; even though they’re still shit at silencing anything. He ran over to the window which was conveniently placed by the backdoor and ran out of it. He looked around as house lights began to turn on and bickering started from seemingly nowhere. He looked all around and looked at the fence as an opportunity for escape. 

He hopped over it and landed. He made a sprint for the wooded area behind the house, he didn’t have any idea where he was going but as long as he was anywhere near that house he was going to get it. He ran and ran before stopping. When he stopped he couldn’t see any light and his vision became an awful blur, he collapsed by a tree to catch his breath. He rested himself against it. Who the fuck shot her he wondered. 

He was more utterly terrified, and he hadn't been terrified in a long time. He put his hands on his face only to look down at blood splatter, He looked at his hands in fear, he couldn’t feel himself, he...he couldn’t even breathe. Every breath felt like he was choking. He rolled himself up, something about it, he couldn’t contain himself. 

  
_ “Such a sad display of power and I thought you would’ve been the best”  _ a voice sounded from the woods. Pico looked up, the only thing looking back at him was a pair of red twinkling eyes and a smile that could kill. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tried to be a bit more canonical instead I turned it into a shitty crackfic, I've been gone for way too long am I'm just not in the writing spirit, this might be turned into a non-canonical chapter in this series, I felt like I just needed to post something

**Author's Note:**

> sorry, you had to endure through that bullshit.


End file.
